


The Prince and the Priestess

by shulamithbond



Series: Reality X [3]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Chronic Illness, F/M, I apologize to fans of Sigyn for my characterization of her here, Intersex Loki, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Loki Has Issues, Loki x bigger women, Loki you little shit, Mild Kink, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mpreg, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Pre-Thor (2011), She's going to get better later on in the series, chronically ill Loki, submissive loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shulamithbond/pseuds/shulamithbond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki meets Angrboda. They make beautiful music together once Loki stops being a condescending a-hole (to Angrboda, at least. Not to poor Sigyn, unfortunately).</p><p>Sorry about the title; I'll probably rename it at some point.</p><p>Also, as with most of the fics in this series, this can be read on its own. It's not essential to the plot of the series, just some smutty backstory on Loki's relationship with Angrboda and his issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

       Loki remembered the first time he had seen Frost Giants in person. They were garishly-colored creatures, with deep blue skin and red eyes. Tall and lanky, they were more likely to be toned than to be bulky and muscular, as the Aesir were. They refused by their very appearance to be ignored, and now, regarding them from where he stood, with his brother and his parents, Loki wrinkled his nose. Even aside from being cruel, barbaric degenerates, _do they have to be so…tacky?_

         He felt eyes on him, and swiveled his gaze. Standing partly in shadow, over the shoulder of the one in the center – Laufey’s mate, Farbauti, Loki gathered; he (she?) was draped with ropes of stones and shells that seemed larger, shinier, and more colorful than those of his retinue – one of them was gazing at Asgard’s royal family with scrutiny of which Loki would not have believed a Frost Giant capable.

         _No_ , he realized as he watched her – him? – it. _It’s not watching our family_.

         It was looking at him.

 

         The maid Sigyn sidled up to him after the feast; Loki cast about for Thor to come and rescue him, but his brother had reliably found Sif, Fandral, and the others, which meant he was dead to the rest of the hall, except possibly for women. “Did you see the chests that Vanaheim sent for their tribute, my lord?” She smiled up at him through her painted lips in what she probably thought was a seductive manner. “Plenty of green silk, there was. And some of that green stone they like so much – jade, I think they call it.”

         “Fascinating,” Loki drawled. It figured that Asgard and Jotunheim were in peace negotiations for the first time in centuries, and _actual Frost Giants_ were walking about the palace, but all Sigyn could think to speak of were trinkets and pretty things.

         “I have been thinking,” Sigyn pressed. “About our wedding, my lord.” She smiled. “You like the color green, don’t you? We could have jade set into our wedding things.”

         “Jade is hideous,” Loki said absently. Really, how was it that Sigyn never seemed to find a clique of giggling maidens to join up with at feasts, and seemed always drawn to him? Yes, they were betrothed now, but still – was it not normal for both members of a couple to have their own friends, their separate occupations?

         “Did I hear someone mention a wedding?” Loki turned toward the unfamiliar voice – and nearly jumped out of his skin. It was the Frost Giant who had been staring at him. “I love weddings. Who’s the happy couple?”

         Sigyn was gawking up at the Frost Giant. She seemed incapable of speech, so Loki opened his mouth. “Ours. Mine and hers. I mean – we are the couple. It is to be our wedding.” _So suave, Loki. And this is the one they call “Silvertongue_.”

         Scrutinizing the Frost Giant for the first time, Loki noted its – hers? It had _sounded_ female – shape, which certainly looked feminine. It was thick and curvaceous, the woven belt that she was wearing hugging her wide, rounded hips, with – Loki tried not to let his eyes be drawn to it – a small bubbling-up of soft-looking flesh that overhung the belt slightly and rippled minutely when she moved. She was broad-shouldered and well-endowed in the chest, and Loki could see that her belly was not flat under the loose red shift that she had tugged over herself, likely to appease her hosts (given that Frost Giants on Jotunheim allegedly went around in far less). But she was muscular too, and her limbs and bare head swirled with runic markings, some raised into ridges upon her blue skin, in the manner of her kind. She wore rawhide cords tied around her wrists, ankles, and forearms, either braided or beaded with shells, bits of crystal, or – Loki peered – were those the skulls of some small creatures? From her ears hung surprisingly finely-crafted silver earrings that trailed down her shoulders, the only items she wore that appeared to be of any value. When Loki breathed in, he inhaled a scent he did not recognize, which seemed familiar but which he could not place – sweet and fragrant, but spicy and faintly smoky as well, perhaps some sort of incense.

         And mead. He also whiffed mead. She had been drinking, but she was not yet drunk enough for her judgment to be impaired, Loki decided. Living with Thor had proven an education in the nuances of inebriation.

         “Well then,” she was saying, grinning at them both in a way that turned Loki’s stomach – or at least, made it do cartwheels – “congratulations to you both.” She raised her cup, and looked down at Loki. “Have I a rip in my bodice, Prince? You appear to be staring at it.”

         “And how can he not?” In unison, they turned toward Sigyn, who blushed furiously under her rouge, but continued. “It…it obstructs one’s view of everything else.” She giggled nervously, speech trailing off under both their stares.

         An awkward silence, and then the Jotun laughed. “Your fiancé doesn’t seem to mind.” She nodded at Loki and swiped a cup from a passing servant’s tray in one fluid movement, handing it to him. “Come, Princeling. Drink with me. You look as if you need it.”

        Loki took a sip despite himself, for his nerves as much as out of thirst or desire. “And tell me, who am I drinking with?”

         “I am Angrboda. I am…I suppose your word for it might be ‘priestess.’ Yes, I am the priestess of Jotunheim. I serve the Royal House, in particular Farbauti-King.” She gestured over at Farbauti, sitting in conversation with Frigga about something. Loki wondered where Odin had gone. Frigga appeared quite engrossed in whatever debate she and the Frost Giant were having, but then, Loki had seen his mother entertain similar characters with aplomb. “As he is the royal consort, he has the most need of my skill.”

         “Your skill?” Loki became vaguely aware that Sigyn had slunk off somewhere. “And what is that?”

         “I would tell you, Prince, but I fear I could only reveal the secrets of my craft upon pain of your death.” She grinned again. “No, I jest, it’s merely…a bit of sorcery. Fertility and potency charms and potions, you know, if and when they’re needed. Remedies to ease pregnancy and childbirth. And of course, I speak with the spirits, the ancestors, and the Old Gods. On behalf of the Royal House, and the people.”

          Loki bit back a snort. _“Old Gods”?_ The primitive nature of Jotnar would never cease to amaze him, although he had to admit that such superstition certainly was not limited to the realm of Jotunheim. “And do they frequently speak back? These spirits and gods?”

         Something in her red eyes flashed, although she maintained her smile. “Oh, yes.”

         Loki cleared his throat, thinking back to what he’d seen Fandral say and do at various feasts. “I, ah, perform some sorcery myself, incidentally. Seidr; the magic we do here. I’ve studied it closely for years.”

          “Is that so?”

          “Yes, and I have some books about it…up in my chambers.” Loki took another sip of mead; it turned out to be slightly larger than he’d planned, and he had to gulp it, throat burning.

          Her grin grew wider; hungry, and knowing, even amused. “And…would you like to show them to me?”

          “If you wish.” Loki kept his voice casual. “I could read them to you, if you wish it.”

         Again, that flash in the eyes, like a sudden fin stirring the surface of some deep and tranquil-looking sea. “Well, I would be _honored_ to look at the _Prince_ of _Asgard’s_ magic books.”

 

* * *

 

         “You want to fuck me, don’t you?” she asked, sprawling in Loki’s favorite chair. Her legs were spread wide, the way a man would sit. He tried not to stare, even though her shift was just long enough to obscure his view of anything.

         Loki wished he still had his cup. He’d handed it off to some servant on the way upstairs. “Yes,” he said boldly. “I do.”

         She shrugged slowly. “And I suppose…what can a _Frost Giant_ do against the will of an Asgardian prince?”

         He tried to look confident. “That’s right.”

         “Of course it is.” She rose slowly, approaching him, hips rolling and breasts bouncing gently, and he could already see her bending slightly down to him as her arms reached out-

        -And picked him up, his feet actually lifting off the ground; the next minute, her body was pressing him to the wall, her lips against his. She felt cool to the touch, but not painfully so. Loki was so overwhelmed – not merely by the escalation of events but by the fact that he had now begun getting hard – he almost didn’t react when her tongue pressed its way into his mouth...

         Now she pinned him to the bed. Hard. Loki was sure that women could be the ones on top – he knew it was possible, it had to be – but he realized he’d never seen it done before. He licked his lips, desire overcoming his nervousness.

         “I’ve had just about enough from you,” Angrboda growled (actually _growled_ ) down at him, voice low and hoarse with desire, her various baubles clinking as she undid her belt and stripped off the shift. “You think my kind are _slow?_ You think I don’t know condescension when I hear it? Prince or no, it’s time someone taught you some manners.”

        He felt his wrists grow abruptly cold, and realized she had ‘iced’ them to the posts of his bed; he'd forgotten that her kind possessed that particular ability. He couldn’t contain his moan of arousal.

        She straddled him, and Loki gave a small cry of near-joy as she clasped him between those lovely hips and thighs. Her breasts were distracting enough, her nipples an unusual, but delicious-looking, violet color, and hard, begging for his touch. It was everything - her breasts; the little rolls of flesh that gathered at the curve of her waist as she bent toward him; her wide, round hips, the strength with which she held him – even the…her _manhood._ It looked well-formed, impressive but not disproportionate, and despite her seeming nonchalance, already hard; _leaking_ for him.

        He found himself treacherously wondering what it would be like to take her in his mouth – both _that_ and her quim, of course, but especially her…her _cock_. Would it be like the icicles he and Thor had been given as children out of the kitchen iceboxes to suck on in the heat of summer? How would it taste? Sweet and tangy, he couldn’t help but imagine, like the bright blue berries that grew on the vines of the palace’s outer walls? He realized his mouth was actually watering slightly.

        She leaned down further, breasts hanging down and brushing him, teasing him. “You want it, don’t you? You want to take me inside you.” She pinched his nipple until he cried out again. “Answer me, Odinson.”

        “Yes,” he gasped. “Oh, yes, _yes, please.”_

        “Very well, then.” She reached down with one hand, stroking his quim – or, more accurately, just above it. He twitched under her fingers. It felt lightly frosty, but again, there was none of the burning cold he had always associated with their race. “Now, back home in my realm, they say the Aesir don’t know how to pleasure their women. Your people do have such a love of the phallus…and such a fear of all things ‘womanly,’ as you deem a cunt to be.

         “So while I’m at it, let me educate you, Princeling: you don’t simply _ram_ your _cock_ into someone in order to pleasure them. You _prepare_ them, like _this.”_ She inserted a digit into him now, and pressed her fingertip into just the right spot, and Loki nearly jumped out of his skin. “I suppose none of these pale-skinned barbarians would know about _this.”_ She pressed the spot again, and Loki arched and fairly shrieked.

         He’d thought he couldn’t possibly resist coming for much longer when she began touching him like that, but he writhed and cried out anew as he felt her lightly chilly tongue on his folds, lapping at his wetness as she held his twitching legs down. He was dimly aware that from the sounds he was making, anyone listening would probably think someone was being tortured.

         Then she withdrew, and the next thing he felt was her cool lips on his ear, kissing, lapping, and even biting. “Ready for me, Odinson?”

         Loki could barely speak, but every fiber of his being screamed _YES_. He worried about spoiling the moment, but something about Angrboda seemed to loosen his tongue. “W-w-wait.”

         “What?” To his mild surprise, he heard a note of concern in her voice. “Is something wrong?”

         “N-no.” He nearly laughed, half-hysterically. “No…it’s just…” He swallowed his nervousness. “I wish…I wish you to…to call me _ergi_.” His cheeks burned with mingled shame and heat, which the shame only seemed to feed.

        He just glimpsed her distaste at the mention of the word. “If you’re certain…”

         “Please.”

         She sat up, repositioning herself. “Then take it, _ergi_ ,” she told him solemnly, as she thrust herself into him. “Take it _all_.” Loki gasped; even as wet as he was, he couldn’t tell if it was pleasure, pain, or some combination of both as she filled him to the hilt, stretching him even as he tightened around her. It was a rude shock when she pulled back out, and he couldn’t help but hum impatiently until she thrust back in. _“Faster.”_ He tried not to whine.

         She slapped his erect cock; not hard, but hard enough, in his current state, to garner a yelp. “Don’t you _dare_ order me about like one of your mealy-mouthed servant girls, _ergi,”_ she snarled, voice deep with the harmonics of command. Loki actually felt light-headed for a moment. She purposely slowed her pace until he groaned.

         “I’m _sorry,”_ he begged openly now. “ _Angrboda_ – dear one – _lovely_ Angrboda, _sweet_ Angrboda, _pretty_ Angrboda, _damn you Angrboda_ , _please …”_

          _“Fine.”_ Despite her nonchalant tone, the speed with which she rode him – _rode_ him, as if he were a _whore_ , a _thrall_ , a _slave_ _(oh Norns yes)_ – now suggested she had wanted it faster – _rougher_ – just as much as he had.

          Loki was fairly certain he’d never come that way through fucking; not so hard or _deep_. Perhaps only being fucked – perhaps only a quim – could bring that particular sort of climax. And even after it was finished, he could feel the appetite still in him – he was tired now, he wanted to sleep, but he could already feel the urge stirring again, and he knew he’d be ready for another round before long.

         “You’re still wet for me, aren’t you?” she asked now, teasingly, releasing his wrists from their frozen restraints. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you, Prince? Or were, I suppose.”

         “Of course not,” he snapped as haughtily as he could.

        “In your cunt, I mean,” she clarified. “Had you ever even been fucked before?”

        “By men.” Loki swallowed. “But not…never _there_.” He’d never even admitted to _having_ a quim before. If any of his previous lovers, of either gender, had glimpsed it, they had made no comment. It could not be visible to anyone but him most of the time, anyway, even if he did choose to expose himself; Loki was thankful for his parents’ skill with concealing enchantments.

        A pause. “Well…it’s a fine cunt,” she told him, more softly. “Nothing abnormal about it whatsoever. It’s beautiful, in fact. Perhaps another time, you can see mine.”

         She withdrew from him, and he felt the mattress shift as she lay down beside him on the bed. A slight chill sent him shivering; he realized she was very gently stroking his hair, and couldn’t help but relax into her touch. “Do you wish me to leave now, Prince?”

         He felt…oddly sentimental, and as if he were made of the thinnest, most delicate glass; the thought of being alone nearly brought tears of apprehension and dread to his eyes. “No, thank you, Lady Angrboda.”

         She shifted onto her back, making herself comfortable. “Then I can stay awhile.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath...Loki discovers he's pregnant after his and Angrboda's night together.

        “Brother?” Sipping the stomach-soothing tea he brewed for himself, Loki turned at the note of uncommon urgency in Thor’s voice.

        “Yes, Thor?” he replied, as patiently as he could. When Thor paused, Loki prompted, “Brother, I am just recovering from a stomach illness, and I feel rather drained” –

        “I know that, Loki.” Thor’s tone – solemn, and uncharacteristically soft – silenced him. “Brother, it has been a month since you started ‘recovering’ from this illness, to hear you tell it. Yet you still sicken every morning.”

        “It has not been that long” – Loki’s voice trailed off as he realized Thor’s timeline was correct. “Well, and so what if it has? You know my stomach, Thor, especially in the heat of summer” –

        _“Yes,_ but you have never _vomited every day!”_ Thor burst out, his eyes ablaze. “I am informing Mother, Loki. As you should have done weeks ago.”

        Loki could only shake his head. It was Thor’s physique, he thought, his unfailing strength, which left his brother unable to understand. Loki had lived within a strangely-built, temperamental, unpredictable body all his life, and as a result he understood that sometimes, things just happened. Sometimes, nothing could be done to prevent or fix them. Often, they resolved themselves.

        Of course, Loki knew – though he’d been fortunate, thus far – that sometimes, they did not.

        And if he was honest with himself – as he sometimes was – he had to admit that part of the reason he was reluctant to consult Frigga or the healers was his worry that this time, the problem might be more serious. It might not heal on its own. It might not even be treatable.

        This time, things might finally have gotten worse than he could handle.

 

        The healer was familiar to Loki. She was the one Frigga had always brought him and him alone to; Loki did not recall ever being examined by another, in fact. She and Frigga alone – well, and Odin, obviously, and perhaps Thor – knew about his…physical anomalies. When Loki bled for the first time, she was the one who spoke to him about it, who taught him to brew the remedies for himself, to ease and to disguise the symptoms that came with the monthly blood.

        Right now, she noded as Frigga explained what Thor, and later Loki himself, told her. Then she turned to Loki. “Please remove your tunic and leggings, my Prince.”

        Wordlessly, Loki obeyed and laid back on the couch as Frigga discreetly looked away. The healer examined Loki’s skin for sores or blemishes, and then – Loki wondered why, but his throat was too dry to speak – she looked at his nipples and then raised his knees gently to examine between his legs. Loki looked up at the mural on the room’s ceiling, no doubt placed there for just such a purpose, and tried to swallow his shame and keep his composure.

        When she was finished, he tried slowly to put his clothes back on, willing his hands not to shake. “Forgive me, my Prince,” the healer inquired. “But your monthly bleeding? When was the last time you had it?”

        Loki realized he couldn't remember. He usually tried to block it out, but even so, this seemed like a longer time than usual between blood. “I…do not recall,” he managed.

        She noded, as if to herself. “Has your appetite changed? Have you had any…peculiar tastes? Foods or combinations of food you do not usually enjoy?”

        And as Loki thought about it, he realized the answer was yes. “Meat and fish,” he answered thoughtfully. “And hard cheeses with sour fruit.”

        The healer nodded again and exchanged a glance with Frigga, and then the two women stepped out of the room to whisper about something; Loki felt helpless anger twist his gut. It was just like being a boy again, when the full extent of his physical deformities were discovered; the only positive was that there was no distantly raging Odin pounding the wall outside in the corridor.

        “I have a few ideas of what may be ailing you, my Prince,” she informed him when she and Frigga returned. “I must have more information before I can say for certain. In the meantime, however, I must insist that you abstain from all alcohol and any strong potions and teas, and consume sugar only in _moderation_.” Her eyebrow raised pointedly; she no doubt remembered all the times as a boy that Loki gorged himself on honey until he made himself sick. “I must also recommend only the gentlest of physical exercise, Prince. No sparring or practice with your arms, and tell your brother no more roughhousing for a time.” She offered a comforting smile. “However, I do not think there is great cause for alarm. I think it is quite possible that your condition is temporary, and relatively harmless.” To Loki's shock, her smile grew wider; warmer. “In fact, there may even come a time when you look back on it, and are glad to have gone through it.”

        Loki didn't understand what in the Nine she could possibly mean by that, but he could not speak to ask her. He could never speak after an examination; he truly did feel like a boy again, tiny and naked and shivering from being prodded and scrutinized under the gaze of adults.

 

       When he returned to the healer’s room in a little less than a week’s time, Loki was shocked to see Angrboda sitting on a stool beside the chair drawn up for his mother. She was an entirely different person from the night of the feast, different even from the way she was in his bed. Her gaze was stony, her body rigid, and her mouth a grim line under her scars and ridges. She looked much younger than she did that night; Loki realized that despite her ordinary bravado, she might only be a little older than him.

        She did not look at him.

        “Loki,” said Frigga, breaking the silence. “I have spoken with your healer, and with the Priestess Angrboda – for I am given to understand that she is an expert on such conditions, and that she played a role in this – and they have explained the situation to me.” She was gentle, still loving, but disapproving too, and faintly worried.

        She continued, “They believe you are with child.”

       The healer said nothing. Angrboda said nothing. Her announcement delivered, Frigga fell silent and said no more.

        So Loki, struck speechless, anxiety twisting his gut, said nothing as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki gives birth. Probably the end of this fic; their story is going to be picked up again in "Vampires of Maine" (at some point). Content warning for Loki's spiral of self-loathing and bad thoughts, as well as mpreg and childbirth.

         The light burned red behind Loki’s eyelids. Except for the pain, every other sensation beyond the light felt distant; he was curiously detached from his body. Some part of him was aware that his skin was slick with sweat, drenching the bedsheets and his shift. His mouth was letting out a scream.

            His body seized up again, the muscles in his abdomen clenching themselves and spasming out of his control. It was like the pain that had plagued him monthly during the first few years of his bleeding, only a thousand times worse. It was the deepest pain he had ever felt.

            He struggled into a seated position, and with one shaking hand, tried to reach out for the dipper of water. His hand twitched and fumbled as another spasm hit, and the dipper clattered to the floor.

            Loki sank back down on the bed, trying not to recoil at how hot, wet, and foul-smelling it had become. He tried not to think about how empty the room felt. He did not know why Frigga and his healer did not come. Perhaps Odin had forbidden it. Perhaps his parents had locked him in here to die. It wasn’t as though he didn’t deserve it. _You’ve shamed your family, ergi. Ergi, ergi, trash, freak, slut; like a whore from the gutter, an animal for breeding, only even lower…_ Fresh tears coursed down his face.

            The door burst open, slamming against the wall loudly, sounding almost as if it had broken on its hinges. Loki rubbed the tears out of his eyes and tried to see who it was. He had a sensation of a person of great size standing near him; at first, he wondered if it was Thor.

            He saw the blue skin, and he knew.

            Angrboda reached down to retrieve the dipper, polishing it on her kilt, before dipping it into the bucket of water and bringing it to his lips. The cool metal was relief, and the water felt and tasted like pure life flowing down into his stomach.

            Looking past Angrboda and his own belly, Loki saw Frigga and the healer rush in, too. Frigga shouldered past a yielding Angrboda to embrace him. “I’m so sorry, darling,” she whispered hoarsely into his hair, as if she was swallowing tears herself. “I’m so sorry.”

            She didn’t say more. _What could she say?_ Loki reflected later. _“I’m sorry I honored my husband’s wishes for so long, as every oath and custom of our world compels me to do?”_ She had done her best. During his months of confinement she had sent him gifts – books to occupy him, special healthful desserts to ensure he had a treat but would eat well, and even clothes; tiny gowns with impossible embroidery details, and gaily colored quilts, in preparation – and besides, she was here now. All the rest, he knew he could forget. He would will himself to forget.

            Another contraction wracked him, and Angrboda and the healer took over. If Loki had been in the frame of mind to expect her to be affectionate, he would have been disappointed. As it was, Frigga’s comforting was enough, and Loki was content to watch the two healers take charge of his body, shouldering along with him the responsibility of the birth.

            “He’s almost there,” Angrboda said, and her red gaze darted to Frigga as a note of bitterness entered her voice. Frigga colored slightly, but kept her composure under the glare. Angrboda turned her gaze on Loki, and it softened, even if it kept its professionalism. “Loki, pretty soon, you will need to push, do you understand?” One of her hands took his, and Loki blinked. For a moment, it had seemed a blue hue had begun to spread over his own hand, but when he blinked again, it was gone. Later, his mind put the detail aside, and he did not remember it, until much later.

            When Angrboda squeezed his hand, Loki pushed, squeezing hers back, as hard as he could, beset by the feeling that he was _doing it wrong_ , as the pain seemed to do nothing but worsen. Angrboda stopped him from doing it all at once, though, and forced him instead to stop and catch his breath. Loki hated the rhythm. He just wanted it all to be over.

            “All right, Loki,” Angrboda said calmly, her tone an anchor for him even as he screamed his head off. “I think this will be the last time.” She squeezed his hand. “Push.”

            Summoning up the last of his strength, Loki obeyed, pushing as hard as he could, feeling as though he was probably going to be one of those people who died in childbirth, as if he was bleeding out energy. Still, he gathered himself and pushed more, waiting for the cry of the newborn baby that he’d always been taught to expect.

            There was a sound, but it was different from what he had expected. Panting, Loki just made out a sharp intake of breath from Frigga, but he had no time to dwell on it. “Again, Loki,” Angrboda called out, her voice now sounding hoarse like Frigga’s. “There’s one more.”

            _Gods damn these children_ , Loki had regained enough faculties to think, but he pushed again, needing less energy this time, as the infant seemed to fairly slide out in contrast to its elder sibling.

            Tears were sliding down his cheeks again, but this time they were relieved. Loki sank back against his pillows as Angrboda finally dropped her professional detachment, long enough to kiss Loki on the cheek and stroke his hair. “Congratulations. You did so well.” Loki fell back against the pillows, unable to speak, swallowing back fresh tears.

            Loki drifted off then, without meaning to. The first time he awoke, it was to Angrboda and the healer fixing the infants at his breast, by the feel of it, as Frigga stroked his hand. He could not see the children in any great detail, swaddled as they were in Frigga’s quilts. He didn’t mind. Feeling their little toothless mouths on him, and hearing the little snuffling noises as they nursed, was enough for now.

            He awoke once more to feel Angrboda climbing onto the bed next to him and curling her tall, large body around his little one, stroking his hair and planting kisses in it. “Thank you, Loki,” she whispered to him, in a sweet tone she had never used before. “Thank you for our children.” She pulled the blankets he’d kicked off up over him, tucking them under his chin lovingly. “Thank you, my love…and I’m sorry."

           Loki wanted to ask her what she was apologizing for, but he was too tired to care. It could wait. For now, all he wanted to do was sleep, which he did, enjoying the feeling of Angrboda’s affection, like nothing he had ever felt from another lover before, or would ever again in any of his entanglements before Gunnungagap.

 

            When he awoke for the final time, Frigga was sitting beside his bed. She smiled at him and handed him a cup of water. “Good morning. Well, good afternoon, I should say.” She brought forward a tray of milky porridge and fruit, setting it across his lap. “Here, don’t fall asleep again. You need to eat, dearest.”

           Loki obeyed, and when he felt ready to speak again, asked, “Mother, where is Angrboda?”

           A shadow passed over Frigga’s face, but it appeared to be sadness, rather than anger. “She was…called back home, darling. She wished to stay longer, but…but her mistress needed her again.”

          Had he been completely awake and aware, and not filled with a suddenly-remembered hunger, Loki would have become suspicious. As it was, he accepted Frigga’s words.

         “Where are they?” he asked, when the bowl was clean, coloring slightly at the mention. “My…my _children_. Where are they, Mother?”

         Frigga paled visibly, expression turning resigned, as if she had prepared herself for this moment. “They are with Angrboda.”

          Loki’s brow knit. “But…but should I not be…nursing them, and…and so forth?”

          “Angrboda knows how to care for infants. She can look after them.”

          “Well, when can I see them again?”

           When he looked into Frigga’s face again, he saw the truth. It did not matter that she answered, “We’ll see; I’ll speak to your father.” He knew she was lying to him. Maybe not by will; maybe she thought it was kinder. But Loki knew he would never see Angrboda or the children again, whether it was due to the Frost Giants or to Odin.

          A tear trickled unwillingly down his cheek; Frigga wiped it, looking ready to cry herself. “I am so sorry, my son.”

          When Loki’s mouth spoke again, his tone was blank, and he barely recognized his own voice. “I’m sorry, Mother. Tell Father I’m sorry, won’t you?”

         "Oh, my son.” Now she did start to weep; Loki looked away. He hated watching Frigga cry. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

          “Please tell him, Mother.”

           She nodded, drying her own eyes on a sleeve of her kirdle. “I will.”


End file.
